Highlander Untamed (17 page)

“I heard, but I d-d-didn’t expect to see anyone,” she stuttered. “If you would show me the library, I will return to my room.”

“Didn’t expect to see anyone? Don’t you understand”—his voice shook—“
I
could have been anyone.” Any one of his men could have seen her nakedness just as clearly as he could. The thought made him half-crazed.

Had she set out to entice him again? To drive him mad with longing? Rory struggled with the conflicting emotions battling inside him. Frustration and lingering doubt gave his voice the sharp edge of a blade. “Why do I find you searching the dark corridors of my keep? What are you looking for?”

Her eyes widened with alarm. She tried to explain. “You misunderstand me, Rory. I was only looking for a book. I didn’t know where to find the library. It’s late, and the noise had died down. I thought all were abed.”

He whipped around to grasp her arms. His hold tightened with the roughness of his voice. “What game are you playing, Isabel? Was the damn dress not enough?”

“You have the wrong of it. I certainly didn’t seek you out.” Her voice lowered to almost a whisper. “You have made it very clear that you do not want me.”

It was the wrong thing to say. He was only a man, and she’d prodded him one too many times. Teasing him with her beauty, her provocative clothing, her naughty innuendo, her seductive smiles. The press of her soft buttocks against his rock-hard cock. Her soulful eyes, eyes that tore through his indifference. She was his handfast bride. Who would blame him if he took her? No one. It was expected. She belonged to him—for a year.

Restraint exploded inside him. He did want her. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman before. He felt none of the careful reserve that he usually felt with the lasses. None of the distance. None of the control. Right now, his body raged with a fire that could not be contained.

He pulled her into his embrace, holding her firmly against his chest and groin, skimming his hands down her hips. Savoring the soft sensation of her body molded against his, he gripped the tight curves of her buttocks in his hands as he lifted her against him. He pulsed with need. “You are wrong, Isabel. I do want you.” His voice grew thick. “Can’t you feel how much I want you?”

Her eyes widened.

“Is this what you wanted, Isabel? Did you want me to touch you?” He moved one hand around to cup her breast, rubbing his thumb across the hard tip, smiling when she gasped with shocked pleasure. He lowered his head to the curve of her neck, burying his nose in the warm lavender essence of her silky curls. His mouth brushed along her neck and throat, trailing kisses until he reached her ear. Pulling the tender lobe between his teeth, he felt her shiver. “I don’t just want to touch you, I want to taste every inch of you.” The soft burr of his speech became more pronounced with the sensual promise of his words, rolling off his tongue in a caressing whisper.

He felt the wild flutter of her heart against his chest. Finally, unable to resist any longer, he lowered his head, covering her trembling lips with his. This time, he kissed her with all the passion he’d held inside since he’d first seen her. For every time she’d tempted him to kiss her, to touch her, to make her his. His mouth moved against hers, demanding. Tasting. Devouring.

The innocence of her response nearly brought him to his knees.

His heart raced, and blood pounded in his ears. Rory couldn’t get enough. He kissed her with an urgency that could not be denied. Deftly easing her lips apart, he slid in his tongue. The honey taste of her only made him want more.
God, she was sweet.
The kiss went deeper, hotter, more desperate. He delved in the sweet caverns of her mouth and stroked her tongue until it entwined with his.

Rory groaned, surprised by the intensity of her sensual response. He pulled her even closer. Her breasts pushed hard up against his chest, the heat between their bodies nearly dissolving the thin layers of cloth that stood between them. He was burning up. He ached to feel the rake of her tight nipples on his bare skin as he slid against her.

Soon, kissing wasn’t enough. He needed to see her, to touch her, to drive her mad with desire as she’d done to him. He slid his hands over the soft silk of her wrap and pulled it aside. After working the silk ties at her neck, he opened her chemise.

He sucked in his breath. His imagination had not done her justice. Her breasts were perfect—high, round, and sinfully generous. Reverently he cupped her, testing their weight in his callused palms. Her skin was the finest alabaster, tipped with delicate pink. Their eyes met. He held her stunned gaze as his fingers caressed the velvety skin, watching as her eyes filled with passion when he rolled the hard peak between his fingers and squeezed ever so gently, the nipple puckering and turning a deep, mouthwatering red. And God, he was going to taste her.

Her back arched, and she pressed her breast more firmly against his hand.

Her response turned his mind to black. The swift kick of pure lust hit him hard, and desire gripped him like an iron claw as he descended into the realm of no return.

Isabel felt as though her body were not her own. He held complete dominion over her. She was powerless. Consumed. Wave after wave of unfamiliar sensations crashed over her. From the first taste of his mouth to the demanding sweep of his tongue, her body awakened under his masterful touch.

Her initial shock at the scalding heat of his hand cupping her breast had turned to wonder. She fought to catch her breath as his fingers lightly rubbed her new hardness and his hand kneaded the fullness of her breast.

But when his mouth slid over her sensitive tip, she was lost. A sharp, wondrous pang surged straight to her heart. She was afraid to move, not wanting to shatter the beauty of this spectacular moment of awakening. An awakening that burned a trail of fire from her chest to the juncture at her legs, making her aware that the area between her legs was alive—its innocent slumber shattered by a frantic, quivering pulse. Alive and tingling with anticipation for she knew not what. He sucked, circling the hardened peak with his tongue, nipping her with his teeth until a dam exploded inside her. Heat spread across her skin and rushed between her legs. Never had she imagined how something could feel so perfect. So right.

Her legs shook. She clutched his broad shoulders to brace herself. He sucked her harder, and she arched her back, her hips shifting closer to his heat. His demands grew more frenzied.

The initial shock she’d first felt when he’d held her so intimately and pressed the proof of his desire against her had turned to unconscious need. She wanted him firm and hard between her thighs, wanted to feel the power of his arousal. To know that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Her hips swayed against him. When he groaned, pleasure spread inside her like molten lava.

He was supporting her now. Her hands splayed across the granite muscle of his arms and shoulders. She wanted to feel him, to take strength from his powerful body. His muscles flexed beneath her fingertips, and with a masculine growl he tightened his hold. God, he was amazing. She didn’t know what was happening to her. This strange feeling of powerlessness. All she could think of was him. Hot and hard, surrounding her.

She felt his hand on her leg, under her chemise, sliding up her thigh. Isabel froze. Growing hotter, wetter, as desire flooded between her legs. Her mind raced in a thousand directions. A twinge of uncertainty tugged in the recesses of her consciousness.

He wouldn’t.

He would.

With one last tug on her breast, he lifted his head to watch her face as his finger swept over her. A small sound escaped from deep in her throat. Her eyes flew open, stunned by the intimate contact. She felt confused as the desire of her body quickly outpaced the knowledge of her mind. It was too much, too quick. Despite her mission, she was, after all, an innocent. A woman who not so long ago had never been kissed. For a moment, innocence intervened. She grabbed his wrist. Her body squirmed in confused anguish.
Please,
she thought. Please stop, or please more? She didn’t know. This was what she’d wanted, tempting fate by wearing her nightclothes, but why did she feel so unsure?

She must have spoken her thoughts aloud, shattering their all too brief moment of connection, for as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. Rory raised his head, his brilliant blue eyes heavy with passion, and roughly released her.

Please more,
she realized. But it was too late.

She stumbled backward. Her legs were as weak as a newborn foal’s. She brought her hand to her mouth, sure that it must be dark red and bruised from the pressure of his lips. She felt a vicious yearning for something that she didn’t understand and wanted nothing more than to be swept up once again in the sweetness of his powerful embrace.

“That should never have happened.” His breathing was ragged and his voice rough.

He was not unaffected. She took a cautious step toward him, placing her hands on his chest, offering herself to him once again. “But it did.”

“An unfortunate occurrence that will not be repeated.” This time, she heard the iron determination in his voice as he deliberately removed her hands.

He doesn’t want me.
Rejection throbbed like an open wound. “Did I do something wrong? Do I not please you?”

He took a long look at her disheveled nightclothes. Self-conscious, she quickly tied the strings of her sark. And when his steely eyes turned to her again, she felt something else. Shame. Shame for her response and the shocking intimacies she’d allowed him, for how quickly and thoroughly she’d succumbed to his touch, for the eager sounds of pleasure that had escaped her lips. What must he think of her? She’d moaned and clutched at him like a harlot. Even knowing that he intended to send her back.

Her eyes fell to the floor. She was humiliated by the betrayal of her body. She didn’t think she could ever look at his face again and not be thinking of what he’d done to her. The way his mouth had pleasured her breast, how his finger had swept her very core.

He studied her face. “You please me well enough. As you would any man. You’re a beautiful woman with a body made for pleasure.” The whiplash of pain knocked her back. His words flayed her, reopening wounds that had never healed. He saw only her face. She thought what they’d just shared was special. “Every man has his breaking point. If you want to be a maid when you leave here, you’ll stop your dangerous game.”

Isabel swallowed, tentatively lifting her eyes in question.

He pinned her with a look that seemed to see right through her. Her heart skipped a beat. “I’m not a man to toy with, Isabel. You’d do best to remember it.” He paused, flicking one last glance over her nightclothes. “For your sake, I hope you were only looking for a book.”

He spun on his heel and left her alone with the crackle of the fire. She shivered, with need or fear she did not know.

Chapter 10

Rory did not return to their room that night, and for once his absence did not bother her. Isabel didn’t know if she could face him. Her emotions were still too raw.

She’d wept silently in the darkness for hours, as she had too often as a child, until exhaustion finally overwhelmed the hurt. She must have slept, but for how long she knew not. When she woke, the sting of his rejection had not lessened. She lay in bed, reluctant to get up. For if she did, she must face the mess of her own making.

Isabel had confused lust with something more. A deeper connection. In the shelter of his embrace, she’d felt a sense of security and belonging she’d never experienced before. Like a fool, she’d allowed herself to believe, if only for a heated moment, that someone like Rory MacLeod might care for her. She’d spent a lifetime trying recklessly to prove herself to her family. If the people closest to her did not care about her, why would he?

The MacLeod desired her, nothing more.

She’d felt his desire. Felt it wedged hard against her body. He’d wanted her.

But clearly, he didn’t trust her. And not without reason, she admitted. Guilt needled her conscience. Though she had not necessarily set out to seduce him last night, seduction was part of her plan. She’d wanted to press him and had known he might come upon her wandering around scantily dressed. She’d flirted with danger and had been burned. He had every right to question her and to hurl his accusations. She deserved all that he thought of her, and worse.

The true horror of the situation had only begun to dawn on her. She’d known what she would have to do, but never had she imagined how cold and calculating it would feel to use her body to prey upon his attraction. To use their passion to manipulate. A wave of self-revulsion washed over her.

His words came back to her. He’d only taken what was offered. She cringed. Had her desire been so obvious? If she had responded to him inappropriately, it was only because she’d acted instinctively. Innocently. Fresh shame burned her cheeks. She wanted to bury her head under her pillow and hide from the vivid memories.

But he was wrong in his suspicion. Last night had not been an act. Her response had been freely given. Never had she thought herself capable of such feelings. And their intensity terrified her, for it indicated just how susceptible she was to him. And just how easy it would be for her to lose her head.